


Threadbare

by Wrenlet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-03
Updated: 2006-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenlet/pseuds/Wrenlet
Summary: Sooner or later, Sam will get over himself and let Dean have his turn in the bathroom.





	Threadbare

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://bunnymcfoo.livejournal.com/profile)[bunnymcfoo](http://bunnymcfoo.livejournal.com/) and [](http://tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com/profile)[tsuki_no_bara](http://tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com/) for inspiration and read-throughs.

There are more kinds of demon blood in the world than Dean can even count, not to mention saliva, slime, and all manner of other bodily fluids. And the bitch of it is, at least half that shit is caustic and he's run through more sets of clothes like this. They both have.

"God **dammit**."

And often enough that it's not that big a deal. Or shouldn't be, even when the both of them are flat soaked in the crud, threads of flannel and denim wearing away into nothing like those sped-up movies in science class where they make you watch shit age. Dean has always hated those things. Nothing for them to do but toss what's left and rinse off, and he'll do just that as soon as Sam stops yelling, gets over himself and lets Dean have his turn in the bathroom.

"Hey." He slaps the side of his fist against the door, something halfway between a knock and a bang and it pushes open a couple of inches. "Hey, what gives?"

"Nothin'."

Sam has his back to him, his shirt is already off and falling to pieces on the floor and Dean can read the tension in the line of his shoulders, but, whatever.

"Whatever. Hurry it up."

Dean's neck is starting to itch where some of the mystery-ick slid down the back of his collar, and dammit, itching makes him cranky. Cranky enough he's sort of stomping by the time he's down to his boxer briefs and Sam still isn't out of the damned bathroom.

"Jesus, Sammy, _today_ would be nice."

The bathroom door still isn't latched so Dean just shoves on it, hard enough it swings all the way open and touches the wall. Sam still has his back to him, standing over the bowl of the sink. He's got a towel around his waist now, and Dean had suspected his brother got soaked worse than him and this just confirms it, but he's also got the aid kit open on the floor and a row of bottles lined up on the counter: peroxide, alcohol, holy water, witch hazel. Great. This is so like him.

"You know nothing takes that shit out, what the hell are you--"

Sam twists toward him, enough for a single-eyed glare and Dean catches a glimpse of his hands in the mirror and lets the rest of the sentence die unsaid. He knows what Sam's holding because he's seen them before and really, there's no way his brother owns _two_ pairs of glow-in-the-dark sushi print boxer shorts. Just one.

Just the pair Jessica gave him. She must have tucked them into Sam's duffel when he wasn't looking because when they tumbled out onto the bed in a motel room outside Jericho, Sam had looked almost as surprised to see them as Dean did. He'd shoved them back in with his other clothes and mumbled something about a birthday or anniversary or whatever, blushing up high on his cheeks. Dean didn't ask for details then and he's not going to ask now.

Sam is still glaring at him, his chin poking forward like he expects to take a hit on it. Dean thinks Sam forgets sometimes what an awesome brother he has.

Dean leans into the bathroom just enough to catch the doorknob with his fingertips and then straightens, pulling the door closed. The look on Sam's face slides from defensive anger through frustration and -- right as the door obscures him and he begins to turn away again -- into quiet grief.

Dean pulls on the door until it clicks, puts his back to it and looks around the room. His neck still itches but he'll live, and maybe by the time he dresses and gets the tarps out of the front of the Impala seen to, Sam will be done.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, well. Bunny told me one night how she and Cindy were chatting and had decided Sam must have a pair of somewhat embarrassing undies from Jess, like sushi print boxers, 'cause that's the kinda thing girlfriends do. And I responded "... you know they'll get wrecked, right?" *cough* Now go tell Bunny I should under no circumstances be allowed near puppies.


End file.
